


dog.gif

by closedice (inspectorwired)



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Other, Supposed to be funny, sans likes trolling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5811388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspectorwired/pseuds/closedice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though why does digging up the porn stash on his computer represent the culmination of your idea of getting close? You always were a flirt-now-talk-later (or never, in your case, mostly) kinda person, but.</p><p>Hahah, you said butt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dog.gif

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea

  
  
  
  
Never have you actually argued; or rather, they can hardly be considered arguments, not with his level of expertise at avoiding. He's so good at it that sometimes you don't even notice he's doing it.  
  
Every time, to each unpleasant question you ask you'd get another question in response, and every other banter is turned into "let's sleep", followed by big-ish snoring Z's hitting you in the face before you can even reply. Makes you wonder if during your conversations, you're the one who communicates more, all the while being selectively mute.  
  
That's also the reason you can't exactly blame him, though; not when every other word you speak is a cheesy pickup line - at least the times that you feel like speaking, anyway, the number of which is approximately 86 percent less than most people's, to be completely honest. (Is this random number, that the flavor text has just told you, completely unconnected to any scientific research whatsoever? Why, yes-)  
  
You wonder if this makes any sense, what you're doing, does it bring any accomplishment at all. You wonder, will he ever... But no, wait, scratch that, don't answer it; you know that he won't. Laughing's easier anyway.  
  
But why does digging up his porn stash represent the culmination of your idea of getting close? You always were a flirt-now-talk-later (or never, in your case, mostly) kinda person, but.

Hahah, you said butt.  
  
Stop it now, seriously. This is low. Isn't even funny. Since when does he even have a computer, anyway?  
  
The lab is dusty and smells like batteries which makes you remember the unrecognizable, weird metal creatures that you shouldn't know, down in the dark basement near the end. You wonder what even are you trying to accomplish here, but then you remember and chuckle, determined as you are.  
  
You grab the mouse, stained with some strange-colored splotches on its sides, the wrist holder under it in the form of an old fast food flyer, and start double-clicking on eveything that seems suspicious enough.

After some time, you're past the state of a mild irritation, your energy drained almost completely. Of course the "dontlook;)" folder-ception inside a dozen another ones is empty if you click; of course the ones labelled "porn", when not empty, have got either recipes, fake alien sightings articles, or music files with Hanna-Barbera sound effects inside them; you're not even surprised that you found all his real stash to be in a little random box in program files, named "dog.gif". You shouldn't be, either - it's Sans we're talking about.  
  
What did you even expect to find, anyway, X-ray scans? (That'd be pretty funny, actually.) You didn't even want to know; you were a nanometer away from quitting, near the end, almost out of the additional times you'd tell yourself that you'd check just one more and if that next one turns out to be another prank, you swear...  
  
Well. Guess curiosity never did kill the cat, just exhausted it a little. You always were more of a dog person anyway  
  
Heh, "dog".  
  
So, wanna click it or nay?  
  
Having been murdered multiple times as a small child, you can't actually blame your fear of losing innocence to this as a reason for not looking at everything yet.  
  
Do you, maybe, fear him liking something other than messy, chubby humans with frizzy hair, or do you simply like reading this asshole flavor text provided? Well, as much as it'd like to say that it's mutual...  
  
You stick your tongue out in the vague direction of a phantom fourth wall while looking at you standing on the tiles, near the chair in which you guess he got off more times than anyone should mark. You can imagine him sitting in it, looking at his stuff.  
  
You can almost hear it, when you think of it creaking, think of him, holding his bony hand over his face, trying to repress the sharp breaths he's making, keeping his face and facial expression as stoic as he can manage without breaking from concentrating on it solely, as if that's hard, without letting any more of the little voices out, that are leaving his throat;

Oh, you didn't think of anything like that?

Liar.


End file.
